Sui Generis
by Sensoo
Summary: Ten years after the fall of Millennium, Anderson mourns the loss of a worthy nemesis. Written for Thess as a Christmas present. [oneshot] AAxIxS


A/N: Manga Hellsing AU. This was written as a Christmas present for Thess. It was originally meant to be AA x Vamp Integra. It turned out AAxIxS. Go figure. Well, Merry Christmas Thess! I hope you like the first bit of femme slash I've written. --;;

-Sensoo

Because I had so many questions about Sine Qua Non. Here is the translation of the title:

Main Entry: **sui ge·ner·is**  
Pronunciation: 'sü-"I-'je-n&-r&s, 'sü-E-  
Function: _adjective_  
Etymology: Latin, of its own kind  
constituting a class alone unique or particular to itself.

Hellsing is not mine. Duh.

* * *

_Sui Generis_

Paladin Alexander Anderson stalked through the streets with the pronounced flair of a self-ascribed anti-hero. He was the sacrificial goat, the angel of death, the Judas Priest. He would shed the blood of the damned for the glory of God.

This place…it was London. London, a city with a colorful history; it held equally colorful memories for him. The reason for his being in London? He hesitated to call it nostalgia, but few Midians began to compare with his London-based nemeses. In that sense, it was really a shame that Hellsing had been out of operation for ten years.

Anderson sucked in a breath and shivered involuntarily with barely suppressed delight at the memories that surfaced. It had been ten years since Iscariot had crushed both Millennium and Hellsing. It had been a battle like the modern world had never seen before. Outnumbered and outgunned, the heathen Jezebel and her Hellish pets had gone out in a blaze of glory. It was an honorable, almost fitting death for the Protestant.

Section XIII had proclaimed that the two Nosferatu had probably been destroyed with her. After all, if they had not succumbed to the mass slaughter, there was no way they could have survived the cleansing inferno that followed.

Anderson bit back a snarl. He could not disagree more. Such beasts were not to be slain so simply. But it had been ten years since Millennium's coup, and there had not been a tangible sign of any of Hellsing's former pets. Rumors and urban legends were plentiful, but Anderson found it almost impossible to untangle bits of truth from the tales.

So here he was, a renowned regenerator who had a personal connection to the legendary head of Section XIII, Enrico Maxwell. He could go anywhere in the world, seeking glory, redemption, and God's ultimate will. Years might have passed, but Anderson had not left his prime. He could continue the fight against evil at the frontlines. But instead, he returned to the miserable city of London. He blamed nostalgia. After the fall of Millennium and Hellsing, what Great War was left? Everything else was a dim mockery of his former foes.

London was not the only place he had been. He had strayed to Cheddar, and then Romania, and somehow, he had found an excuse to tour India. Consistently, he found no tangible evidence of anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps he was paranoid, but Anderson had a highly developed sense of intuition. Some remnant of Hellsing, probably the Police girl, had squeaked by without anyone the wiser.

So here he was, cleaning up the mundane city of London, chasing specters from his past. The slaying did not get as old as he might have liked to admit. As of this moment, the priest was stalking a gang of FREAK chip vampires.

The vermin were skulking about an alley, finishing a meal, when Anderson found them. He tore into them, his blessed blades shredding and burning their unholy flesh. He took his time with them, once they were incapacitated. He abhorred these substandard demons. As he ripped one apart, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, another halfway up the fire escape of the adjacent building. Howling, he slung himself up the metal stairs, making enough racket to raise the dead, just so he could kill them himself.

The panicked scavenger made it to the roof with Anderson close on his heels. Anderson raised a blade, prepared to send the parasite back to Hell.

A shot rang out, and the vampire screamed as the bullet tore through it. As the dust fell, Anderson found himself staring at another hunter.

Red eyes gleamed in the darkness. It was…it had been a woman. Anderson narrowed his eyes. What was this?

"What are-" the woman stopped short, and gasped.

It took Anderson five seconds to place the voice. "Draculina!" He exclaimed, more in shock than anything else.

They stared at each other for a very long minute.

"You haven't changed much," Seras Victoria broke the silence, grinning at Anderson. "Except…cat got your tongue?"

Anderson groped for an appropriate comeback. He failed miserably.

"Well, since you haven't much to say, I'll be leaving…" She winked, and took off running across the rooftops.

"Draculina!" Anderson growled almost desperately, snapping the blade. He dropped the fragments and tore off after her.

How had she evaded him for so long? Why had she chosen to show herself now? Why was he pursuing her so resolutely?

These questions breezed through his mind as he chased the vampire. It wasn't bloodlust that impelled him. It was the realization that so much hinged on…Anderson did not allow himself to complete that thought. Blasphemy. He wanted closure; he wanted to finish the Hellsing business once and for all. He wanted to make sure that their abominations were cleansed from this world.

He was lying to himself again.

Anderson didn't bother flinging any weapons at Seras. They wouldn't do any good. If she had survived Millennium, she had become stronger. If she shad survived the great conflagration and slaughter…then her Master had as well. Anderson felt his adrenaline spike exponentially at the thought of that thrice-damned Nosferatu.

"SERAS VICTORIA!" He roared, leaping across an incredible gap between two buildings.

The subject of his cry stopped briefly, smiled knowingly, and then began running again. In ten years, he had not changed much.

She was faster than he remembered. Perhaps the lack of a worthy opponent had allowed him to grow soft. He rejected that thought as he continued to gain ground. His breathing was harsh and ragged. . He could feel his heart in his throat, internally beating out the rhythm of his steps. Anderson dare not let his mind wander; he was too afraid of losing sight of his quarry. His true intent he could not question, lest it interfere with his pursuit. He could not answer that question that lay deceptively beneath his thoughts. _Once he caught up with the Police girl…then what?_

* * *

"The old man gives a good chase," Seras thought almost idly as she cleared another chasm between rooftops. All she had to do was get him a little further and…she glanced back at the approaching figure of Alexander Anderson. She would have no trouble.

* * *

Anderson watched as Seras disappeared into the shadows of a decrepit building. He followed, almost doubting the strength of his intuition. He stood on the roof, preparing to deal with whatever trap she had laid for him.

The roof was weak and rotten. The spot in front of Anderson was doubly so. As soon as he put his full weight on the next step, it collapsed beneath him.

Anderson cursed fervently as he fell, and all at once, was slammed unmercifully by the concrete floor. More debris fell on top of him. He groaned as soon as the air returned to his lungs; he'd broken more bones from this than in a usual night. Then, a larger chunk of roof hit him, and everything went black.

* * *

"It's a disgrace; Vatican mongrels running loose in our city," an almost familiar voice commented coldly.

Anderson groaned loudly in protest.

Seras chuckled, "I don't know, they're kind of cute."

Anderson opened his eyes and immediately, though rather irrelevantly, noticed his glasses were missing. And Seras Victoria standing in front of him lazily propped against her Harkonnen.

"You treacherous demon spawn!" Anderson roared as he discovered the reinforced titanium manacles that bound him to a wall.

Seras took a step back, narrowly avoiding the spray of spittle. "Relax, Anderson," she admonished. "We thought you might have missed us," she said brightly. "Besides, if we actually planned on keeping you…we'd have better restraints."

"I will tear you apart, Draculina!"

"Shut it, Anderson."

Anderson's head whipped around at the sound of that voice.

From the shadows, and Anderson had to strain to focus, came a tall, blond, impossibly alive woman.

"…Hellsing," he murmured, the pain of his mending bones forgotten.

Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing smirked at his reaction.

"You are…" he narrowed his eyes as he studied her visage. She was exactly how he remembered her, except that she was sans glasses and possessed the telltale crimson eyes of a demon. "I always knew you would submit to temptation, Jezebel," he growled snidely. "What of your fabled pride, Hellsing?"

Integra had been expecting this. She sighed with petty aggravation. It would be best to finish the formalities… "We are both freaks of nature, Anderson. Do not expect me to justify myself to you. Remember, we are on a mission from God."

"Blasphemer!" he hissed, rattling the chains, trying to tear them from their fastenings.

"I wouldn't do that Anderson." All at once, his attention shifted to Seras, who was aiming, almost point-blank, her massive Harkonnen at his abdomen.

"Treacherous daughters of Belial!" He raged impotently. It was very difficult to control himself, but with some prayer and staggered breathing, it was possible. Anderson decided it would be best not to be splattered all over the walls just yet. "You cannot hold me here."

"I have no intention of doing so," Integra said coolly. "As Captain Victoria said, I would have chosen more suitable accommodations for such a…guest. And believe me, Anderson, you, your comrades, and your religion are all _guests_ in my city. You and your superiors would do well to remember that."

"Where have you been for the past decade, Hellsing? Our truth has conquered you heresy. London, no, all of England is under our jurisdiction."

"For now," Integra smiled enigmatically. "For now."

Anderson meant to ask her precisely what she meant by that, but she moved closer to his. Her fingers pressed against his chest, shredding his already torn clothes. Her blood-tinted eyes gazed challengingly into his bright green ones. Anderson could not bring himself to look away. Partially defiant, partially mesmerized, Anderson stood motionless as Integra's fingers raked his chest.

Sui generis, he thought absently as she bled him. Sui generis; the Latin flowed through his mind too smoothly. Sui generis… She was in a league of her own, for all the blasphemy, she would not disappoint him.

* * *

Seras observed. Sir Integra never failed to impress her with that unshakeable demeanor. Even as a mortal, Integra did not quake before the Sword Dancer, unlike a fledgling Seras. Sir Integra had a knack for mastering monsters. She was of a different breed, a cut above the rest. Speaking of which…

Seras did her best not to drool at the sight of a bloodied, bound, Alexander Anderson. A prime cut of meat- she blushed furiously as she realized what exactly was going through her mind.

* * *

Anderson grunted and stared in fascinated horror as Integra drew her blood-covered fingers away from his chest and licked them.

"Interesting," Integra smirked knowingly as she displayed her shiny clean fingers. "You should have a taste, Captain Victoria…"

The other vampire continued to burn bright red at the delicious scene before her.

"Should I feed him to you?" Integra purred, holding another dripping finger out to Seras.

Anderson continued to stare wide-eyed as Seras licked Integra's fingers clean, savoring the flavor of the regenerator's blood. Her eyes were closed, and her lips parted sensually. She moaned softly as ran her tongue along Integra's flesh.

"Unholy succubae…" he whispered hoarsely, entranced. Integra turned back to him, smiling fiendishly.

"If I didn't know better, I would say you were enjoying yourself, _priest_."

Anderson snapped to attention, glaring at the English witch. She'd cast a spell on him, worked black magic in order to corrupt him. He snarled bestially in response, unsure of what else he could do: Seras had retrieved her Harkonnen.

"Oooh look," Integra cooed wickedly. "He's such a rabid little puppy." She held a finger teasingly in front of his face.

"He might bite," Seras said, stifling a laugh.

"I'll bite him back." Integra bared her elongated canines at her captive. "I've broken in naughty pets before. I find it…enjoyable."

Anderson glared at them both.

"What do you want with me, Hellsing?"

Integra lost her amused smile as she was reminded of her purpose.

"I want you and your Catholic scum out of my country."

She said it plainly and without much fanfare, almost with total nonchalance. But as Anderson dared to gaze into those scarlet eyes, he saw the familiar unconquerable determination and knew, that no matter the odds, Sir Hellsing posed a legitimate threat.

He smiled ferally as she watched his chest heal. It was not an expression fit for polite company.

"The heathen perversion will to survive the true religion."

"Your time is over Catholic," Integra responded with equal vehemence.

"Demoness." He leaned forward, eyes shining.

"Beast." She matched him.

"Jezebel." The chains creaked and strained, but did not give.

"Caiaphas," she returned.

"Lilith," he snarled, his face as close to hers as he could bring it.

"Cain," she finished, nose to nose with him.

His breathing was heavy. Anger, excitement, desire all melded in his mind. He would blame it on the witch and on his missing glasses. He wasn't seeing clearly.

"So what's your move, dog?" she whispered breathless in his ear.

Anderson suppressed a shiver. "I'll banish you from this world," he replied in an equally quiet tone.

"I look forward to that," Integra chuckled.

"It's a date," Seras said with a wink as she lifted her Harkonnen onto her shoulder.

Integra stepped back, quite pleased. "Anderson, tell your Pharaoh…let my people go."

Anderson smirked darkly. "So that you can lead them into the wilderness?"

"And to the promised land," she finished. "I trust that we will be seeing you again, Anderson."

The priest did not bother to suppress his vicious glee. "I look forward to it."

Integra licked her index finger and sneered at him. She then picked up his shattered glasses and placed them crooked on his face.

"I am quite certain that you do. So fear not, I will tell Alucard that you send your love. He'll be sorry to hear that he missed you…"

* * *

Once a safe distance away, or at least out of the country, Seras conversed with Integra about their course of action.

"If Master had been there…"

"I know." Integra curled her lip with distaste. "Which is precisely why he was not."

"That went well, don't you think?" Seras treasured the memory of the initial look of shocked recognition on Anderson's face.

"Extraordinarily." Integra clasped her hands together, pleased. "We will commence Phase Two."

* * *

Anderson waited for his broken wrists to heal, almost oblivious of the pain. He eyed the empty manacles thoughtfully.

Hellsing, the Police girl, the very Devil himself…they were all still out there, still waiting for divine retribution. Sui generis: they were in a league of their own. Sui generis: All diplomatic protection on Sir Integra was gone; she was a Midian. Sui generis: it would be good to hunt again!


End file.
